I've Had It!
by luvsanime02
Summary: One-shot. Draco Malfoy is wandering around Muggle London in black leather trousers with no idea how he got there.


**Disclaimer:** Not mine. The HP universe belongs to Rowling.

**AN:** Rated K+ for mild language. Special thanks to Steph for the idea. She mentioned someone should write a fic about Draco in leather trousers so this is for her. She also reminded me of Hermione drugging Crabbe and Goyle. (Edited 12.2013)

########

**I've Had It!** by luvsanime02

########

Someone was shaking his shoulder.

Draco Malfoy groaned and rolled over. He couldn't believe someone was being rude enough to come into his bedroom and shake him awake like that. Especially when his head was pounding like it was, and his throat felt as dry as sand.

The hand was still shaking him, a little more gently than before, but it was the completely unfamiliar voice in his bedroom that made Draco open his eyes.

"You alright, lad?" the voice asked. Draco was too busy staring at the concrete his head had been laying on to answer. The last thing Draco remembered, he'd fallen asleep in his bedroom as usual. What was he doing on the ground? Was this a side street off of Diagon Alley?

Bracing his elbows on the ground, Draco finally rolled over and faced the mysterious voice. He froze as, all at once, at least a hundred different sounds seemed to rush into his ears. He heard people talking, what sounded like thousands of voices at once, some sort of booming, rumbling sound, and really unfamiliar music.

Right. Draco was getting his wand out now. Frantically, his right hand reached into his left sleeve, or rather, it tried to. Blinking in surprise, Draco looked down. Well, he'd gone to bed unattired, restless with the heat, so he shouldn't have been too upset that he was dressed. Except that he _was _upset, because what in Morgana's name was he wearing?

The trousers weren't right. They clung to his legs, and were made of a material he'd never seen before. Almost like dragon skin, but not quite. The shirt, as far as he could see, was a plain red, an orange-red that Draco would _never_ have even considered wearing because it bore too much resemblance to Weasley hair. The only slightly redeeming feature was that the sleeves, though tight, were long enough to cover the mark on his left forearm that Draco carefully didn't look at most of the time. Still, the shirt probably clashed horribly with his complexion, and it definitely didn't go with the trousers, black or no. His feet, he discovered, were covered with trainers that were the same horrid colour as the shirt.

"Lad?" the voice asked again. Draco's head snapped back up in horror as he remembered the man in front of him, the _Muggle_ man who'd found him unconscious in an alley. He was crouched down in front of Draco, wearing a concerned expression, and looking as if he might touch him again.

The thought of a Muggle touching him while he was unconscious was enough to cause bile to rise up in the back of his throat. Draco tried to swallow it down. His throat felt like he hadn't had a drink in days.

"-n't touch me," he whispered, trying to form words through his mounting panic. He was alone, in the Muggle world, and someone had dressed him in Muggle clothes and taken his wand away.

"Sorry?" the Muggle asked, looking less concerned but still not moving away.

"I said, don't touch me," Draco hissed, frantically crawling backwards in a completely undignified manner, but unable to help himself. He could not bear the thought of being touched by a Muggle. The air around him even smelled different than he was used to, like grease that had seeped into invisible pores in the sky and was oozing back out over everything it could touch.

Draco's vision swam, and it was only then that he realized he was hyperventilating and couldn't breathe. Forcing himself to take in a deep breath, and then another, he hastily stood up. The Muggle followed suit and Draco turned abruptly, running out of the other side of the alley, ignoring the startled shout from behind him. He flattened his back to the wall of the nearest building and narrowly avoided being run into by someone else.

Another Muggle, Draco was sure, and now the panic was rising unchecked. He didn't know where this was, and right now, he didn't care. Fear overtook him, such as he hadn't felt in over a year before Potter destroyed the Dark Lord, and Draco ran.

He ran as fast as he could, darting around Muggles and through other alleys. He didn't know how long he ran before the stitch in his side became too much and he doubled over, gasping. When he could breathe again, he straightened up, silently cursing.

It wasn't really too light out yet. Obviously, it was early morning. By now, his parents would have noticed that he was missing, due to his absence at breakfast, but how would they find him out here? Draco was going to have to get home, or at least somewhere civilized, by himself. He shivered, but it had nothing to do with the temperature, which was already hotter and heavier than Draco was comfortable with. The summer heat was not something he wanted to deal with on top of everything else, but Draco doubted he had much choice in the matter.

There were Muggles everywhere. Draco knew there were more of them than there were Wizards, but he'd never imagined they were all packed into one place like owls in the owlery. This was insane, a maelstrom of unbelievable sights and sounds. Taking another deep breath to brace himself, Draco looked up at the nearest street signs, hoping against all logic that something familiar would appear.

The names were as unfamiliar as everything else, and he ruthlessly squashed the disappointment that rose up. Really, he hadn't expected a miracle, but he needed _something _to go on. However, he did notice the south and north directions. Pausing, Draco thought for a moment before picking south. After all, if he was in London (and he sincerely hoped no other Muggle community was this large), then Wiltshire was south of that, he thought.

A few hours later, and Draco was officially having the worst day of his life. The Dark Lord couldn't beat this. Draco would rather have been under the Cruciatus curse than deal with this. Mordred and Morgana, he didn't just need a bath, he needed a few good hundred cleansing spells to make himself feel clean again. There was trash everywhere, there were little white cylinders that Muggles put to their mouths that smelled even more disgusting than pipe weed, and so far four Muggles had grabbed onto his hands, touching his _bare skin_, and had tried to ask for money or directions.

He was tired; he'd never walked so much in his life, not even at Hogwarts, without taking a rest. The trousers he was wearing were stuck fast to his skin with sweat, and he didn't even have a charm to block out the sun. Draco could imagine his fair skin turning redder as the day wore on.

Not to mention the fact that he was starving.

Still, he was making progress of a sort, he thought. Draco was now walking down a street that didn't seem to have as many Muggles on it, which was a bonus. The buildings all looked older as well, some of them with covered up windows and doors wide open. It was quieter around here as well. Best of all, no one had even looked Draco's way in more than ten minutes. He felt something inside of himself slowly begin to relax. Yes, he could do this. He would show whoever had dumped him in the middle of these Muggles (before he cursed them with something creatively gruesome, as no curse that currently came to mind was painful enough revenge for _this_) that he, Draco Malfoy, could survive anything.

A female Muggle was walking up the road in front of him. Draco wrinkled his nose and sneered at her dress. It came down to her thighs, barely, and there were no sleeves at all, making him even more grateful for the ones on his own shirt. Shuddering at how much of the Muggle was on display, Draco moved to go around her.

She stepped right into his path and looped her arms around his waist. Draco froze in sheer disbelief for a brief moment. Then, she actually had the nerve to grab his_ arse _and_ squeeze_. "Fancy I could show you a good time, luv?" her voice purred into his ear.

Draco's vision went white. He shoved the disgusting Muggle as far from his person as possible and started yelling at the top of his lungs. "I've had it!" he bellowed. "Whoever the hell you are, you're dead! The Dark Lord is going to be nothing compared to me when I get through with you! Muggles and trash and lunatics everywhere, and where's my wand?" he practically screamed. And if he'd thought his throat hurt before, that was nothing compared to what it felt like now. He ignored it, ignored the Muggle female on the ground now swearing at him, and took a deep breath, ranting some more. "I can't even summon the Knight Bus! How am I supposed to get home? I'll…"

It was quite a while later, or at least it seemed so to Draco, when he noticed the flashes going off on the side of the road and a team of Obliviators that had shown up on the scene. Apparently, he could stand there and yell secrets about the Wizarding world all day long and it wouldn't matter unless someone else from the Wizarding world heard him and turned him in. No, what had alerted them to Draco's presence, and what had apparently alerted Rita Skeeter to a good news scoop, was the accidental magic that had finally burst forth from a very frustrated Draco Malfoy and shattered some of the lamps along the street.

But Draco didn't care. He didn't even care about the hours he would now have to spend with the Aurors detailing what had happened. He was going to be taken away from this place, and away from people who would grab a random person's arse without so much as a by-your-leave, and that was good enough for him.

He could deal with his parents later. He could deal with the Aurors. Right then, he could have even dealt with Harry sodding Potter if the Golden boy Gryffindor had shown up and known the way back home. Telling himself not to ponder that lunacy too much, he'd obviously spent too long in the sun, Draco was then side-along Apparated to the Ministry to happily answer as many queries as they could think of as long as they made him a strong cup of tea and gave him a sandwich first.

########

The next morning, Harry Potter floo'ed through to Hermione Granger's fireplace, only to hear that their other best friend, Ron Weasley, was already there.

"No one made you take that bet, Ron!" came the voice of Hermione, sounding far too smug.

"I didn't think you were actually barmy enough to set it up!" And that one was Ron, sounding extremely put out about something.

Harry paused, wondering if he really wanted to know, before deciding that, _yes_, he did, actually. He walked calmly into the kitchen to see Hermione sitting at the far side of the island, facing him, enjoying a cup of tea, and with the_ Daily Prophet_ laid out beside her plate of egg-in-the-basket. Ron had his back to Harry, standing at the side of the island nearest the kitchen entrance, and clenched in his right hand was another copy of the _Prophet_.

"Seriously, Hermione," Ron continued, "have you lost your marbles?"

Hermione, who had turned her gaze just long enough from Ron to wink surreptitiously at Harry, raised her eyebrows in a false expression of mild surprise. "Really, Ron, how would the bet have ever been settled unless one of us did something about it?"

"This bet wouldn't have had anything to do with this, would it?" Harry smoothly interjected, brandishing his own copy of the _Daily Prophet_. The front headline proudly proclaimed **Malfoy Scion Slumming with Muggles!**, and there was a picture below it of Draco Malfoy in obviously Muggle attire, waving his arms dramatically. The article wrote a lurid tale of a love affair gone wrong, and how Malfoy had been ditched in the Muggle world by his scorned lover. Harry had taken one look at the colour of the shirt Malfoy had on and promptly abandoned his breakfast to visit Hermione.

His voice made Ron wheel around. Seeing that there was an audience, Ron wasted no time in brandishing the _Prophet_, still clenched in his fist, in Harry's face. "It's not my fault!" Ron declared. "All I said was that there was no way a spoiled git like Malfoy could survive among Muggles for more than an hour! How was I supposed to know Hermione was off her rocker?"

Hoping that question was rhetorical, Harry turned to Hermione, face expectant and not a little incredulous, only to see her shrug her shoulders as if she hadn't a care in the world. "Ron bet me twenty Galleons. How else were we supposed to settle the bet unless Malfoy was ever in a Muggle area?"

That made sense, except for the fact that Hermione had _kidnapped_ Malfoy and dumped him off in the middle of London.

"Ron, you'd better hurry or you're going to be late opening up the shop for George," Hermione interjected into Ron's continuing rant. "You can give me the Galleons later," she added, as though in an afterthought, and Harry was greatly amused by the brief splutter Ron let out before he looked at the clock, cursed, and ran into the living room. The floo was heard going off a moment later.

There was a brief silence in the kitchen as Hermione sipped her tea and Harry thought of how best to phrase his questions. "Hermione," he started, "were those Muggle clothes he had on transfigured, or-"

"Oh, no," Hermione cut in, still too calmly. Harry could see that she was holding in her mirth. "Those were authentic Muggle clothes, although I did have to change the colours of the shirt and trainers." Looking up at him, and he noticed an alarming Dumbledorian twinkle in her eyes, she added, "That was what tipped you off that it was me, right?"

"Right," Harry agreed, because it was the truth. Well, nothing to do but ask then. "And just _how_ did you get Draco Malfoy into Muggle London, wearing Muggle clothes, and without a wand?" He paused. "You didn't take his wand, did you?"

Hermione waved her hand airily. "Oh, no, that wasn't part of the bet at all." Somehow, Harry wasn't reassured. "As for how I managed to get him into Muggle clothing, do you remember those chocolate cakes I laced for Crabbe and Goyle to eat when we needed their hair for that Polyjuice Potion?"

Harry's jaw dropped, and he couldn't quite bring it back up again, leaving his mouth partly agape. "You _drugged_ him? You kidnapped and drugged Draco Malfoy, dressed him in Muggle clothes, and left him alone in the city without a wand because you wanted to win a bet with Ron?" His voice was flat with disbelief. "How did you manage to drug him anyway?"

"Oh, that was easy," Hermione answered, a little too brightly in Harry's opinion. "Kreacher watched him for a week to learn Malfoy's routine before he went to sleep, and apparently, Malfoy always has a cup of tea right before. So, all I had to do was have Kreacher slip the draught into Malfoy's drink!"

Harry felt a sudden, strange urge to laugh. "And Kreacher actually agreed to go along with this?" he asked, although he knew that the old elf had to have done so for Malfoy to have been drugged in the first place.

"Well," and here Hermione finally sounded a tad anxious, "I may have told Kreacher that Malfoy badmouthed Regulus Black."

The laugh broke free. Harry had to lean himself up against the island for several minutes while he calmed back down. "Ron's right, you know," he told Hermione when he had finally got his breath back. "You're dead scary sometimes, Hermione."

"You're going to be late for work," was Hermione's only response, although Harry could still hear the thread of amusement in her voice.

"Right," Harry agreed, silently vowing to never drink anything Hermione gave him ever again without checking it thoroughly first. He was to the doorway between the living room and the kitchen before another thought occurred to him. Glancing back over his shoulder showed Hermione looking after him, as though she was well aware of what was on his mind.

Harry wouldn't put it past her.

"Black leather trousers?" he asked.

Hermione finally let go of the grin she'd been keeping bottled up during their entire conversation and _beamed_ at him. "Consider it a bribe for not telling anyone else who was behind the whole thing."

Stunned, and not a little worried, Harry grabbed some floo powder and got out of there. He wasn't even going to think about how Hermione had known Malfoy's exact sizes in Muggle clothing.


End file.
